Page 85 of Iron Heart

I reach for the door handle, my legs suddenly feeling like water.

“I don’t know,” I breathe. “But I guess I’m about to find out.”

33

Tori

It seems like it takes forever to crutch from Jake’s car, up my sidewalk, and to the front steps.

I’ve only seen Dante twice since the day of the shootout. Once, the day after, when he came to check on me and make sure the guards he posted at my house were doing their job. The second time was at Dominic’s funeral. Both times he was polite, solicitous, but distant. Both times, I still carried the hope that the kiss he gave me that day after the Lords rescued me meant the promise of something more. The hope that Dante’s and my story wasn’t over.

Now, almost a month later, I don’t have that hope anymore.

I do my best to look impassive as I limp up the steps toward my front door. “Hey,” I nod at Dante, before looking down to fish for my keys in my purse. “Not sure why you’re here. I don’t need an electrician.”

I mean the words to wound him. I want to hurt him. As much as his absence has hurt me.

But Dante doesn’t take the bait. “I suppose I deserve that,” he murmurs. He nods toward my ankle. “How’s that doing? Healing up?”

I shrug. “It’s fine.”

“You’re getting good with the crutches.”

“Dante.” I roll my eyes. “Can we not do this? This… bullshit? Whatever it is you’re here for, I’m guessing it’s not to make small talk about my ankle.”

“Okay. I guess I deserve that, too.” He stops rocking, and puts his hands on his knees. “Look, can you sit down, or can we go inside, or something? I want to talk to you about some things.”

“What things?” I challenge him.

Dante lets out a rueful chuckle. “You ain’t gonna make this easy for me, are you, Lois Lane?”

He stands up from the swing, and takes two steps forward, until he’s less than a foot away from me.

“Okay. Enough bullshit. I wanna talk to you about us,” he rumbles. His eyes lock onto mine. “About you and me. And why I’ve been such an asshole.” He reaches up, softly caresses my cheek with his rough, callused thumb. “And why I think we should be together and stop all this fucking around.”

For the first time in memory since I met Dante D’Agostino, I’m speechless.

“So. Can I come inside?” he repeats, with just the hint of a grin.

I blink, still unable to think of a single thing to say.

I reach into my bag for my keys.

Dante watches as I unlock my door. He waits for me to go inside, then follows close behind me.

Since I’m moving more slowly than usual, because of the crutches. I feel incredibly conspicuous knowing he’s watching as I make my way into the living room. I reach up and pull my bag over my head and toss it on a side table, then go over to the couch and flop onto it as gracelessly as only a woman with a bum ankle can. I silently pray that Dante will take one of the other chairs, but instead he comes over to the couch as well and sits down right next to me.

I hold myself straight, as dignified as I can muster, and ignore the impulse to move away. I stare at Dante, expressionless. “Okay. You’re inside,” I say.

“Yeah,” Dante murmurs. “Okay.

“You know,” he begins, looking down at his hands. “When Cyndi died, I kind of took it as a sign. A sign that I was doing the right thing by deciding I needed to stay away from you.”

Something flickers across Dante’s face. Like he’s trying to make a decision. Finally, he tears his eyes away from his hands to look at me.

“That night, when I came over to tell you what happened to her, and you asked me to stay, I wanted to. More than anything.” The dark orbs I know so well search my face. “I couldn’t fuckin’ do it. Because all I could think of was, ‘If I stay tonight, I’m never gonna leave her. And if anything happens to Tori because of me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.’”

Dante gives me a sad, gentle smile. He reaches up to brush a lock of hair away from my face.